Tonight riding my bike home, the cracked frame creaking reliably underneath me in baby blue
and white, the light was fading to a soft orange pink sunset. Clouds lightly overhead, though the ground still
hard and dry. It was nice out, nice for the gentle prediction of living to touch me. Though not explicitly as I want them to be, it would be hard not to savor these days.
Savor the creak of old wood on the porch
as I hopskip up the stairs, the sneaky creak of the door as I enter the hallway which splits
left stairs to the apartment above, and forwards to my door. How I like it, secretly wonderful. Dull rundown surrendering to the tendrils of ivy moss time, leaving the greylit world through a door opening into bursting crisp
clean orangy white warm.
Stepping outside to walk barefoot down the sidewalk, feel the sandpaper grit
dig into my feet and catch the transition to rain. Small drops
taking on greater frequency and size until a downpour has transformed the ground, by this time I am safely on the top step under the porch roof. The first spring rains have entered correctly, with that lurking
hint of summer smell.
I feel there is a strange division that cuts down through my center, parallel
paradox yet essential. Inevitably I find myself carried away and drifting in the reality of a dreamer. With a delicate and thin connection as I covet and sense perhaps to greatly the surroundings and forward motion of life. I slip so easily into the recess of my mind, finding so much there that has been stored and slides to the front under guidence of random triggers, so much delicate and amazing
. Forgetful and lax, it is easy to let technicalities rigid duties and obligations slip quietly by. Slicing cleanly through is a fierce propensity for logic, acting always in the background it cuts
things down to simple concrete
angles. Relentless, I have slowly learned to pin this down. Resist the deconstruction
of every single thing into pieces which may be explained and grasped, for there is not always an absolute
truth and not everything may be explained. Too grounded in reality, demanding always things be tangible, often unreasonably.
When I was much younger, falling asleep during a time of anxiety, something started to occur which persists
to this day. As stress reaches a high level, closing my eyes trying to coerce sleep, a concept forms in my mind. A feeling of motion, fast and forward in direction. In the beginning this is enchanting
and draws me in, skimming over some relentlessly smooth unseen surface. My anxiety starts to creep inwards, from all sides, things become turbulent and I know deep within that the smooth plane which was once underneath is now contorted, twisted, inverted in endless dimensions and directions. My motion becomes erratic and sickening
, a headache rises forwards with the necessity to open my eyes and breath slowly while unclenching
my fisted fingers.
and so the course was followed not dictated..